


A Decent Proposal

by starhawk2005



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Het, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-06
Updated: 2012-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-11 14:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/479340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starhawk2005/pseuds/starhawk2005
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John proposes to Mary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Decent Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing but the computer I wrote this fic on, and the condo said computer and myself (and a husband) are currently living in.  
> Beta: Thanks as always to the multi-splendoured medicinal_mirth for her beta services.  
> Author’s Notes: Written in response to the ‘Great Big Valentine's Day Ficathon of Buttfucking’ Challenge (and no, ‘buttfucking’ was actually NOT a requirement, in case the anally!squeamish among you are wondering) at the spn_vday comm.   
> My prompt was: John proposes to Mary with maximum schmoop. Bonus points for bad poetry being involved somehow.

Corporal John Winchester was a man on a mission. The most important mission of his life to date. Fraught with unseen dangers, loaded with the potential for rejection.

It was a large-scale mission, one with several stages. The first stage was actually rather easy. He had to decide whether or not to ask her. Actually, that had been effortless. There’d been a few girls in the past, some of them even serious. But none had ever been like Mary. He’d never felt so much in love. He knew that he wanted to wake up to this woman’s face every day, messy hair and bad breath included. He wanted her to scream obscenities at him and clutch his hand almost hard enough to snap bones when she delivered his child(ren). He wanted to grow old with her. It made for an easy decision.

The second stage of the mission was the ring. He tried to think of the best way to find out the right size band for it. The _diamond_ size was easy – soldiers returned from the war and working as mechanics only made so much money, after all. But making sure the ring would fit her when he slipped it on? More complicated. Not that it mattered - was Mary going to change her mind if the ring wouldn’t slip on at all, or if it was a little loose? No. On the other hand, he thought how perfect – perfectly symbolic – it would be if it slipped right on and fit just right. Just like he felt about _them_.

Finally, he hit on a strategy. The next time he cuddled with Mary on the couch, watching a movie, he’d slipped his ‘weapon’ out of his pocket. A short length of string. While Mary had napped against his shoulder, her left hand resting on his chest, he delicately worked the string under her finger and then up around the base of it. He curled the string around her digit, noted where the tip of the string met itself, and slowly pulled the string away, carefully knotting it at the right spot. Stage two completed, and Mary was none the wiser.

Stage three was to actually get the ring. That hadn’t been as hard as the string trick. He walked into the jewelry shop, asked the first saleslady he saw where the engagement rings were, told her his price range, and then looked at a few alternatives. He’d settled quickly on a diamond solitaire. The saleslady told him the name of how it had been cut, but he’d forgotten that piece of trivia almost instantly. It didn’t matter anyways.

Now he was about to embark on stage four of his self-appointed mission, and that was the hardest of all. The actual proposal. He supposed that the next time he was at Mary’s, he could get down on one knee, hold up the little box, and ask her to marry him.

That wasn’t really _him_ , however. He pondered taking her out to dinner, giving her flowers, and then making his proposal.

No, that wasn’t him, either.

He thought about writing a poem. Surely that would impress her, express the depth of his feelings…

He gave it the old college (not that he’d ever been to college) try:

_Roses are red, violets are blue…_

_This ring needs a new home, and so do you._

He didn’t like that. He tried again.

_There once was a man from_ _Nantucket_ _,_

_Who wanted a blonde wife who would-_

Never mind.

Maybe he should just wing it. Try something direct from the heart. Something meaningful to him-

_You brought my heart down faster than an attack by a Viet Cong sniper..._

_You captured me more easily than a brigade of Marines…_

_I’d like to drop and give you twenty…of anything you want…_

Oh Hell, he _sucked_ at this.

He decided to focus on the easier part – just deciding how to do the proposal. He’d work out the verbal end later.

 

*~*~*

 

He took Mary to the drive-in, in his Impala. The car he’d first learned to drive in, the car his Daddy had given him. It made perfect sense to him to do this in the Impala. That was _him_.

The movie was OK, some B-horror thing that he couldn’t concentrate on anyways. Didn’t matter, it was still fun. They pegged popcorn at each other, and complained about how stupid the people in the movies were, always going _into_ the room where the creepy noises were coming from, for example.

When it was over, he took her to an isolated corner of Lover’s Lookout, another meaningful place to him - he’d lost his virginity here, after all. And besides, the place had its own kind of gritty romance. The lights of the town below, the Milky Way meandering lazily across the sky above. They lay on the hood of the Impala, staring up at the sky together.

His hands were sweaty, and he wondered if Mary had any clue how nervous he was. He wondered what was harder, facing a charging enemy, guns blazing, or asking his girlfriend of several years to tie the knot with him.

Finally, he worked up the courage. “Mary, honey….” he started.

She turned to face him, smiling. “What, John?”

“I…” He reached into his pocket, pulling out the crumpled looseleaf sheet on which he’d scrawled his meager poetry attempts. He glanced quickly over the untidy loops and whorls of his writing. Forget it. He crumpled the sheet up again.

He pulled the ring out instead, opening the box to show the contents, and looked up to meet her startled eyes. “Mary, would you make me the happiest man in the world, and be my wife?”

There was a beat. During which he was sure _his_ heart wasn’t beating at all. Time stood still for an eternity, and then Mary was throwing her arms around his neck and practically choking him (he didn’t mind, though) and crying and laughing at the same time and saying “Yes!” over and over.

He kissed her passionately and hugged her hard, and then slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly, the diamond glittering faintly in the lights from the town below and the moon above, as Mary stretched out her hand to admire her it. Mission accomplished. Excellent job, Corporal Winchester. Here’s a Congressional Medal of Honor for bravery.

But when Mary grabbed his hand and tugged him down with her, down off of the Impala’s hood and onto terra firma, he was a bit taken aback. What was she up to?

“C’mon, John,” she whispered, opening one of the Impala’s rear doors and pulling him after her, down onto the back seat.

He closed the door behind them and lay over her, kissing her. Sliding his hands over her cheeks, into her hair. This made all the ‘covert maneuvering’ he’d had to do lately _more_ than worth it.

This woman was going to be his wife. The mother of his kids-

Mary distracted him from his happy thoughts. “John, I want you.”

He grinned at her. “You _have_ me. Didn’t your Momma explain that’s what that bit of gold and shiny carbon on your hand means, now?” he joked.

“No, I mean I _want_ you. Right now.” By way of explanation, she took his hand and guided it down, leading his fingers to cup over the soft, curved mound between her thighs, still covered over by skirt and panties.

His breath caught as he realized what she was getting at. “Are you sure, baby doll? I thought you wanted to wait.”

Mary shook her head, smiling warmly. “No. Why spoil our wedding night? My friends tell me it might hurt. So why not get it over with now, and then we can just have fun on the big night?”

He wanted to, wanted _this_. He was already getting hard, just thinking about what she was offering him. But he wanted to make absolutely sure. “Mary,” he slipped his fingers through her hair again, kissing her. “Are you absolutely-“

“Yes, I’m sure. Don’t worry, I’ll just wear _off-_ white at our wedding.” She pulled him down into another deep, devouring kiss.

Bare skin was suddenly under his hands as Mary pulled her shirt up, encouraging him to touch her. Soft skin, warm and velvety, and he leaned down to press his lips against her belly, kissing every inch. Slipping his hands, at her urging, up and under her clothes, stroking the tips of those beautiful breasts.

He loved the noises she made, too. They’d fooled around before, countless times, and he had practically every sound she’d made memorized. The little gasps of pleasure. The soft moans. The groans, coming from deep in her throat. Each so precious to him.

Even the little nonverbal cues her body always gave were branded forever in his mind. The involuntary bucking of her hips when he touched her just the right way. The way her throat and chest would flush and become slick with sweat when he had her close to the edge. He wanted to get her there, now.

She was unbuttoning his shirt, obviously wanting to touch him, too. Cool fingers caressed him, lingered over the feel of him. She gripped his shoulders, pulling him close for another kiss, their sounds loud in the closed interior of the car.

“Please, baby,” she begged him huskily, “Don’t make me wait. Need you so much.” She was pushing on him now, on his shoulders, urging him down and between her legs. He didn’t resist, kneeling up now between her knees and pushing her skirt up. The fabric of her panties was damp against his palm, and he felt an answering jolt between his own legs.

He pulled the panties off, flinging them away, not caring where they wound up. He wanted to bury his head between those gorgeous thighs, bring her as much pleasure as he could. So he did.

He reached under her to grip the soft, resilient cheeks of her ass, holding her still for his tongue. Probing inside her, tasting her, moistening her. Tracing around, following the textures and shapes of her. Finally he ended up near the top of her slit, suckling tenderly at the tiny, sensitive little node, as she pushed herself rhythmically against his mouth. Her soft cries getting louder and more urgent.

John put careful fingers inside of her, exploring, mapping out the terrain. Working her gently closer and closer to the edge, getting ready to push her over.

When she arched her back and went silent, he knew she had reached the pinnacle. He didn’t even need the telltale spasming around his fingers to confirm it. It was one of the many endearing things about her – one of the personal, intimate details about her that he felt so privileged to be party to – that she could get incredibility vocal during foreplay and many of their sexual activities…but whenever she climaxed, it was almost always totally in silence, except for her rapid breathing.

She went limp against the seat, breathing even louder now, and he slipped out of her, leaning forward and stretching over the passenger seat to hit the glove-box button. First a boy scout in his youth, and then a military man; either way, he knew: Always be prepared.

Condom now in hand, he let Mary undo his pants, and he took over shoving them and his boxers down. Not all the way down, it was still in the back of his mind that cops came around here sometimes, looking for lovers to interrupt, and he wanted to be able to get clothed again quickly if he needed to. Always be prepared.

Cool fingers caressed him, rubbing the length of his erection, and John sighed and closed his eyes. Reaching out his own hand, stroking along the back of her hands, up her arm. Finally able to curve his fingers around her cheek, stroking the side of her face.

“C’mon, baby,” she urged him again. If she was nervous at all about this, John couldn’t tell. He struggled to keep his own hands from shaking, finally allowing her to rip open the packet and unroll the condom along his shaft.

He let her hands guide him, position him. Lining him up to slide inside her. He paused, nudging against the tight entrance to her body, gathering himself. Deciding how to go about this. “Fast and all at once, baby doll?” he asked softly, “or slow and gradual?” This was her choice. It was all about her.

She considered the question, hands on his forearms, thumbs caressing his skin. “All at once,” she said. She smiled up at him, but the tic at the side of her mouth betrayed her. Still, she managed to make light of things, as was her way. “This’ll hurt me more than it hurts you.”

“Not if I can help it, baby,” he said. Still poised to take her virginity from her, he tried his best to make her feel good. He started with light caresses over her belly, and the tender insides of her thighs. He slid a hand underneath her, stroking the sensitive crease between her cheeks, gently pressing against the second tight opening to her body.

She jumped at the unfamiliar touch. “John, what are you _doing_?”

“Distracting you. Sssssssh.”

He pushed inside her, as hard and fast as he dared, gritting his teeth in sympathy as Mary gasped in pain. He stretched up, pressing kisses to her lips, her cheeks, his hands continuing to stroke her. A breast under his left hand, his right hand still busy underneath her, thumb softly rubbing the puckered opening underneath it.

John didn’t move for long moments, waiting to feel her muscles unclench beneath him and around him, to feel her body relax. There were tears on the lashes of her closed eyes when he raised his head to look at her, and he kissed them away. “I’m sorry-“ he started to say, guilt stabbing at him more painfully than the knife-slice that had left the thin scar across his cheek.

“No,” she said. “Don’t you apologize, John Winchester. Besides, it doesn’t hurt any more. So get on with it.”

She was glaring at him now, but a smirk was playing around her lips. “Yes, ma’am, thank you, ma’am,” he said, and saluted her jauntily.

He started to move. Slow at first, still watching her, but if she was still in pain, she was hiding it well.

Soon, it was easy. Long, liquid glides in and out, and Mary started to gasp again – and so did he – in pleasure this time. Wetness even dripped down, down to his other hand, and he used it to slick his thumb, easing it a little ways into her, listening to the tone of her cries change as he pushed her closer to release.

When she did, it was even more explosive than before. And even sweeter to him, because he was inside her, _connected_ to her, and he could feel everything. It tugged at him, sensation threatening to undo him, bringing him sharply to his own climax. He kissed her hard and moaned her name, the sound smothered between their lips, and spilled himself into his mate.

When they finally pulled apart, it was lazy and unwilling, but John knew they were tempting fate to stay half naked and entwined like that. He noticed the blood on the Impala’s seat, only two or three drops, but it had such significance to him that he wondered if he’d even be able to bring himself to clean it off later.

He was forever going to associate this car with this act. And with Mary. _His_ Mary.

They got dressed quickly, smiling and laughing and kissing, performing the clumsy and challenging operation of climbing through to the front seats from the back seat. The air was hot and close and smelled of sex, with a metallic undertinge of blood, and John started the Impala so he could crack the windows.

Mary wrapped her fingers around his, pressing them tightly. “I love you, John,” she said, low and rich, and he could have sworn that her eyes were shining brighter than the full moon overhead.

“I love you, Mary. Forever,” he added. He meant every word. No matter how _long_ ‘forever’ lasted. Past death and beyond, if that was possible.

“I know,” she said.


End file.
